


Before Spring Comes

by puppydeanandjen



Series: Spells Suck [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blood, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Season/Series 05, Spells & Enchantments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 02:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14155185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppydeanandjen/pseuds/puppydeanandjen
Summary: Dean always thought that he’ll go out guns blazing not by the roses blooming in his stomach.





	Before Spring Comes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, welcome to the sequel of (Just) Love Me Right. Reading the prequel isn't necessary to understand this fic, although it is recommended. This is my first time writing Cas, so I'm sorry if I didn't get his character right. This is unbeta'd, so all the mistakes are on me. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

“Don’t worry, it was probably just a dud,” Dean assures, unlocking the door to their motel room, more ticked off than usual. Witches always seemed to rub him the wrong way; especially when one of them was able to cast a spell on him before a bullet was lodged in her head. He hasn’t been experiencing anything strange, so he simply dismissed it as a miscast.

 

But Sam didn’t agree.

 

“That’s what you said the last time, remember,” Sam retorts as he follows his brother inside, eyebrows furrowing, with concern plastered on his face. Dean grabs a half-empty beer bottle from the ebony desk as he slides onto one of the matching chairs, hoping that Sam wouldn’t break the promise the two had made. “When my mind deteriorated into a puppy”

 

He downs the drink in one go.

 

They haven’t talked about that incident ever since Sam reverted back to his original self. Neither of them wanted to confront the awkward situation, so they decided to seal it up with a silent agreement and the brothers never mentioned it again.

 

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean assures in a much harsher tone than he had planned, slamming the bottle back down. He swings his legs onto the table, receiving a glare from his brother. Sam grasps his forehead, slowly running it down his face, as he takes several deep breaths.

 

“Whatever,” the younger Winchester spats, stomping his way to the bathroom. “I’m showering first”

 

“Fine, bitch”

 

“Jerk,” Sam responds, slamming the door close.

 

Dean sighs as the soft sound of trickling water resounds in his ears.

 

Shutting his eyes, the repressed memories wash over him like a wave. Having to potty train Sam, again, as his puppy mind couldn’t figure out how to pee in the goddamn toilet. Taking Sam on walks with Dean tightly gripping his hand- because a collar would get weird stares from strangers and none of the child leashes fit Sam’s sasquatch body- as he sprints through the streets with a gigantic, innocent grin on his face. Running a hand through locks of silky hair to lull Sam to sleep after their runs that would make Dean too exhausted to do anything except rest.

 

It’s like a safe had opened in his mind from the mention. 

 

Those times were domestic. Loving. And something they could never have again.

 

A light cough erupts from his throat and his hand automatically moves to cover his mouth. Dean pulls away, revealing a single petal in the palm of his hand; it’s velvet in color mixed with a bright crimson liquid.

 

Fuck.

  
  


—-

 

Dean doesn’t know why he didn’t tell Sam right away. It would’ve been better for him in the long run as they both could be urgently researching for a cure. 

 

But, then again, he’d have to tell him the cause of the growing pain within him. The thoughts that he has. 

 

Thoughts that he shouldn’t have. 

 

So he hides the consistent scratchiness developing in his throat with easy tricks. Simply clearing his throat as he covers his mouth, shoving the few petals into his jacket pocket during breakfast- Sam had decided to stay an extra day for them to rest, still suspicious about the spell cast on him. 

 

However, under Sam’s hawk eyes, it became extremely tricky to hide. 

 

And unfortunately, that tactic only last until dinner, when Dean had felt a vicious itchiness arise, running off to the diner’s bathroom. He isn’t able to reach one of the stalls before he starts coughing, slapping his palm over his mouth. 

 

“Dean” 

 

Sam’s voice rings loud and clear in his ears as he slowly turns around, dropping his arm to his side, with blood dripping from the corner of his lips and a fistful of rose petals clenched in his hand. 

 

\---

 

Anger and rage are clearly burning inside of Sam as he drives them back to the motel- Sam demanded the keys and Dean tossed them to him without hesitation, knowing that his brother’s fury would only deepen with an argument. His eyes are trained on the road in front of them; the Impala’s headlight combined with the illuminated lamp posts irradiates the dark street ahead of them. The tension between them is almost unbearable, causing his entire body to stiffen with fear, as the drive is radio silent. 

 

“How many days?” Sam asks, more of a command than a question, as Dean glances at the younger Winchester, viewing the frustration covered by a calm expression. It hurts him more than it’s supposed too. His eyes tear away from him as he reaches into his jacket pocket, caressing the velvety, yet sturdy texture of the leftover petals. He doesn’t dare to take them out, knowing that it would only infuriate Sam if he did. 

 

“One,” Dean replies, solid and smooth, exactly how he responded to his father when given an order. He doesn’t bear to even peek at Sam right now as he knows that all he would see is the disappointment written on his brother’s face. 

 

As soon as they return to the motel room, Sam is on his laptop, researching a spell that includes the hacking of flowers. Dean glides into the seat on the opposite side, observing how dark eyebrows scrunch downward with murky hazel eyes traveling across the screen with blue light reflected in the pupils. The clicking to the taps of keys reverberates in his head. 

 

It’s endearing to Dean. That Sam is focused on saving him as it always seemed like it’s  _ him _ that is focused on protecting his younger brother. 

 

He should be feeling guilty that he didn’t address this problem earlier, but he doesn’t. Because all he could feel is fatigue and slight joy from the devotion that Sam displayed. 

 

Dean is happy that Sam cares about him. 

 

And, with that thought, he finds himself wanting to puke. 

 

Clasping his hands over his mouth, he scatters off to the bathroom. Rough hands grip onto the toilet seat as he promptly throws up. All he could he feel is pain as fluids are excreted from his body. Once there was nothing left, he pulls himself back, staggering slightly. He peers at the disgusting mix of a coffee brown substance from the burger he had eaten with velvet rose petals covered in blood; the smell is absolutely atrocious against his nostrils. 

 

Soft, tender hands clutch his shoulders, hauling Dean’s feeble body away from the toilet and onto his feet. He glances over to the owner- Sam, obviously- whose eyes are filled with worry and sorrow. That look causes more agony than him hurling the contents in his stomach. 

 

“I’m a-alright,” he assures, voice hoarse and quiet, which only causes his brother’s furrowed eyebrows to crease even deeper. He quickly regains the strength in his legs, removing the hands from his shoulders. Wobbly, he walks past Sam, only to have fingers clench onto his upper arm. 

 

A towel is smothered in his face before he could complain, wiping the leftover fluids off his jaw. 

 

The affectionate touch of Sam’s hand burns against his skin even through the layers of clothing, invoking a sense of ecstasy within him.

 

It causes him to shove his brother away, glaring briefly at him before walking off. 

 

Collapsing onto the bed, Dean shuts his eyes, respiring deeply, as he tries to recover from the pain. The relief is fleeting as the irritation in his throat returns to its full capacity, invoking a violent cough from him. Petals infused with blood are splattered across the white bedsheets he lays on. His arms wrap around his still nauseous stomach as his legs drag themselves upward, curling himself into a ball. 

 

All he yearns for is sleep. Peace. But as soon as his mind begins to drift, he starts hacking again. 

 

It’s like a cycle that he is unable to break. 

 

A chill sensation against his face triggers his eyes to fly open as a hand reaches for the gun underneath the pillow above. 

 

“Relax, it’s just me,” he hears; the gentle and husky voice familiar to his ears. Arm going lax, his eyes are attracted towards the water bottle and pill bottles that Sam holds. 

 

“W-Where did you get these?” Dean asks as he rises from the bed, grabbing both of the pill bottles. Advil and Tylenol. Pouring a couple of pills into his hand, he chucks them in his mouth and signals for the bottle. 

 

“A gas station nearby,” Sam replies with a soft and gentle tone- passing him the bottle- as if the noise would crumble Dean in his already fragile state. It’s adorable. “I told you before I left”

 

He briskly nods his head- pretending that he had forgotten when he actually didn’t hear him at all- while he drinks, liquid cool and refreshing against his sore throat. Returning the water to Sam with a brief “Thanks”, he drops back down onto the bed, avoiding the crimson stain on the sheets. 

 

“Sleep, Dean” 

 

Drowsiness sweeps over him as his eyelids become heavy and, only a few moments later, he surrenders to the exhaustion. 

 

\---

 

Dean would be a complete idiot if he didn’t realize the connection between Sam and the flowers. It’s easy to notice how the thoughts of Sam only increase the number of flower petals, painting a tragically gorgeous scene around him. 

 

Furthermore, Dean would be an idiot if he didn’t notice the non-brotherly feelings that are growing within him. 

 

He wonders when he began to notice how charming those hazel-brown eyes are beneath shaggy, milk chocolate hair and how plush those pink tinted lips are. When he began to cherish the dazzling, honest grin that Sam would wear when Dean cracked a hilarious joke. When he began to yearn for Sam’s warm, tender hands against his own, generating a certain tranquility that overwhelms him. When he stopped seeing incest with disgust. 

 

He doesn't know. 

 

All he knows is the love that pulses through him, desiring to be with his brother, and how wrong that love truly is. 

 

So he continues to observe from the bed he rests in- too feeble and frail to even lift a single muscle- as Sam researches desperately for a way to save his brother who had died once before. 

 

\---

 

On the night of the fifth day, Cas appears in their motel room in sync to the flap of wings. Sam’s strained, murky eyes finally disconnect from the screen in front, rising from the chair he sat on for the last three days. Matted hair spiked upward in various directions, defying the laws of gravity. A hand accidentally tips over one of the copious numbers of coffee cups, dark liquid staining the array of roses masking the beige carpet underneath. 

 

The entire room that once was colored in hues of brown is now a vivid red. Marvelous velvet rose petals that once symbolized love, now only display suffering and pain. 

 

“I didn't receive your message until a few minutes ago,” the angel speaks as ocean blue eyes filled with concern at the sight of the two brother’s horrendous state. Crumpling the flowers, Cas approaches Dean who is still settled, sideways, on the bed.“What happened?” 

 

“Dean got hit with some kind of spell,” Sam explains with slight relief while a series of violent coughs erupt from Dean, petals expelling from his mouth. “and he started puking these flower petals”  

 

Slightly pursing his lips, Cas gingerly places two fingers onto the older Winchester’s forehead. Warmth spreads through his body for a moment, reducing the irritation in his throat, yet the queasiness in his stomach still lingers. 

 

“I was able to ease some of the pain. However, I can't break the spell.” he affirms regretfully as the fingers slide away from him.”It is an old and powerful spell. I haven't seen a case like this since the Edo period.”  

 

Cas twists his head over to Sam, who is listening attentively to each word that spills from the angel’s lips as it’s the only hope he has to save his brother. 

 

“Your brother has Hanahaki Disease. It causes flowers to grow in the victim’s abdomen, slowly suffocated them to death. The source of their suffering is unreciprocated love.”

 

Unreciprocated love. The phrase echoes in Dean’s mind, chipping away at his already shattered heart. 

 

“There are only two ways to save him. Either the love within Dean dissipates or...the feelings become shared.”

 

Sam briskly advances towards the bed, nodding his head, and asks, voice brimming with compassion and eyes full of melancholy, “Who is the person that you love, Dean?”

 

The question strikes fear into him as he doesn’t want to admit this flourishing attraction within him. But he’s afraid of dying, once again, and going back to that god awful place. 

 

However, in the end, rejection would break him more than Hell itself. 

 

“I don’t know,” Dean lies through chapped lips, forcing back the tears welling from blank eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback, Comments, and Kudos are always appreciated. Follow me on tumblr, if you would like, which is linked [here](https://puppydeanandjen.tumblr.com/). I hope you guys enjoyed!


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